I was silenced.

'And you don't like music?" I ventured

again.

Susannah again looked at me. was something wild in her look.

Certainly there

Evidently she did not expect nor wish to continue the conversation; so she replied quietly, "I do not."

Tru-too-tu-too-too-oo with sudden rage began the bassoon to rumble, delivering a final fioriture. I turned round, and saw a swollen thing like a boaconstrictor, with ears sticking out, and the red neck of Mr. Ratch, and he looked to me awfully like a beast.

"But no doubt you don't like that instrument?" said I, in an undertone.

"Yes, I don't like it," she replied, as if to my silent hint.

"That's how it is," thought I, in some sort delighted.

"Susannah Ivanovna," suddenly said Eleonora Karpovna, in her German-Russian language, "is very fond of music, and plays admirably on the piano; only she does not care to play when people press her to do so."

Susannah did not reply-she did not even look at her and simply with a movement of her halfopened eyelids threw a glance towards her. By this simple movement, this movement of the eye, I could

divine what kind of feeling animated Susannah in regard to the second spouse of her father-in-law. Again I was somewhat pleased.

In the meantime the duet came to an end. Fustoff stood up, and with uncertain step approaching the window, near which Susannah and I were sitting, asked her if she had received from Dengold the notes which he had promised to send for to St. Petersburg. "The pot-pourri from Robert the Devil," he added, turning to me, " from that new opera about which every one is talking now."

"No, I have not received them," said Susannah, and turning her face to the window, hastily whispered

Pray, Alexander Daviditch, don't ask me to play to-day; I am not at all in the humour."

"What's that? Robert the Devil of Meyerbeer!" said Ivan Demyanitch, coming up to us. "I'll make a bet that the thing is splendid. He is a Jew, and all Jews, like Bohemians, are born musicians— particularly Jews. Don't you think so, Susannah Ivanovna, eh? Ha ha! ha!”

In the last words of Mr. Ratch, and this time even in his laugh, one could perceive something more than his habitual banter—a certain desire to offend. So, however, it appeared to me, and so Susannah understood it. She trembled involuntarily, blushed, and bit her under-lip. A bright spot, like the flash

of a tear, gleamed on her eyelash, and rising hastily, she left the room.

"Where are you going, Susannah Ivanovna?" called Mr. Ratch after her.

"Leave her alone, Ivan Demyanitch," interrupted Eleonora Karpovna. "Wenn sie einmal so etwas in dem Kopf hat."

"An uncertain disposition," continued Mr. Ratch, turning on his heel and slapping his thigh; "plexus solaris troubles her. Ah! yes; you look at me, Peter Gavreelitch. I have studied anatomy also, ha! ha ha! I can play the doctor too. Ask Eleonora Karpovna. I can cure all her ailments. I am apt

at all things.'

"Ah! you do nothing but joke, Ivan Demyanitch," replied she in displeasure, while Fustoff, smiling and swaying himself to and fro, looked on at the two.

"And why should I not joke, mein Mutterchen?” said Ivan Demyanitch. "Our life is given us for our benefit, and more for beauty, as some poet says somewhere. Kolka, wipe your nose, you young savage!"

IX.

"You placed me in a thoroughly uncomfortable position to-day by your excellency," said I to Fustoff in the evening, as we were returning home.

"You told me that-that-how shall I call her ?— Susannah was the daughter of Mr. Ratch, and she is his step-daughter."

'Really! did I tell you she was his daughter? However it does not matter, does it?"

"That Ratch," I went on, " ah! Alexander, how displeasing he is to me! Did you remark with what a peculiar contempt he spoke before her of the Jews to-day? I fancy she is a Jewess, is she not?"

Fustoff walked on, swinging his arms. It was cold, and the snow crunched like salt under the feet.

"Yes, I think I have heard something of the kind,” said he at last. "Her mother was, I believe, of Jewish origin.”

Probably Mr. Ratch married a widow the first

time?"

"Probably!"

"Hem! And that Victor who did not turn up is also his son-in-law ?"

"No; he is his own son. But you know I do not mix myself up in other folk's business, and don't like talking on the subject. I am not inquisitive."

I bit my tongue. Fustoff still continued to go ahead. Arriving at the house, I pressed his hand and looked in his face.

"Well," asked I, "is Susannah really a good musician?"

Fustoff frowned.

"She plays well on the piano," said he through his teeth. Only she is exceedingly shy. I tell you beforehand," added he with a slight grimace.

He was evidently sorry he had introduced me to her. I was silent, and we parted.

X.

Next morning I went again to Fustoff. To call on him in the morning had become a necessity with me. He received me with his usual warmth, but not a word of yesterday's visit. I took up the last number of the Telescope paper.

A new personage entered the room. It appeared to me to be the veritable son of Mr. Ratch, Victor, whose absence yesterday annoyed his father. He was a young man of about eighteen, lean and unhealthy-looking, with a sort of milk-sourness of smile on a dirty face, and with an appearance of fatigue about his inflamed eyes. He was like his father, but his features were smaller and not unpleasing; but in that pleasing look there was something not good. He was dressed very coarsely; his uniform was wanting in buttons; one boot had burst, and he reeked of tobacco.